


Empty Space

by Bofur1



Series: Pound, Pound, Far Underground [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Goodbyes, Heirlooms, OTP Feels, Parting Words, Pregnancy, husband-wife relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated. Jalane, her year-old son Dori, and the baby expected to come at any time must learn this the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Space

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hurkumalak—Armor of Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/808707) by [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1). 



Jalane felt as though the walk into the medic Hifur’s office was the longest in her life. She approached the cot in the corner with a mixture of fear and fury, her eyes latching onto those of the cot’s occupant. They were such a pale blue, Jalane realized, remembering that those eyes were the cause of her presence here, the cause of the baby in her arms who had the same blue eyes.

Sinking down in the chair next to the cot, Jalane stared at her husband, knowing she had to say something but finding the lump in her throat too much to swallow. Fori knew it.

“Laney. Laney, I _love_ you.”

Jalane took a shuddering breath and opened her mouth to attempt words, but Dori launched suddenly into some type of concerned babbling.

Fori laughed weakly, struggling to lift a hand. Jalane picked it up, pressing Fori’s fingers against Dori's cheek. Fori sighed, staring at his son for a long, long moment.

“I love him too,” Fori whispered, his fingertips twitching in what was supposed to be a caress. He cursed softly and muttered something about steadiness.

“Fori,” Jalane managed to sob out. “I can’t live without you.”

Fori shook his head minutely. “You’ll...you’ll make do. Dori’ll help you, won’t you, son?”

Dori grunted, making Fori smile faintly. “That’s my little boy. Both of ’em.” He let his hand fall to the curve in Jalane's abdomen. “Jalane,” he said, some gruffness coloring his voice, “you take care of them. Keep them close, you hear?”

“Yes,” Jalane promised almost inaudibly. Trying to keep her voice from shaking, she questioned, “What had you wanted to name this second baby? We had only discussed it a little.”

Fori blinked sluggishly, obviously struggling to fight off the poison’s sedative effects; he and Jalane both knew what would happen if he drifted for even a moment. “Dori got a ‘D’ cos he was born in the day. S’likely this one'll be a nighttimer. At least, that’s what the stats say. So if it’s a boy...Nori...”

“And if it’s a girl?” Jalane asked hurriedly, leaning closer to hear his answer.

“Norianna.” Fori chuckled dryly and Jalane rewarded him with a watery smile. 

“That’s beautiful,” she mustered.

“Yeh,” Fori agreed. “Just like her mother. Still just as beautiful as the day I proposed to you in that bar...What was it called?”

“The Lord’s Harp Tavern,” Jalane said from memory. She smiled tearfully and reminded him, “We were dancing on a table.”

Fori nodded drowsily. “Aye...’Lane...when Nori’s born, you tell him...I’m sorry for givin’ him my bad blood. If Dori don’t have it, Nori probably wi—”

Jalane froze as Fori’s bloodstained chest shuddered in a feeble attempt to remember how breathing worked. Knitting her fingers into his, she begged, “Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“—will,” Fori finished through clenched teeth. “If he gets it, you tell him the open roads’re all fine—cor, they’re _brilliant_ —but it’s just empty space. Home is full of rage and anguish and devotion and you tell him he _can’t_ be like me. He can’t wait to realize it’s the best thing in the world until he’s dead.”

Jalane nodded numbly and Fori returned it, the vigorous façade slipping further. “And when they get the bodies from the prison,” he whispered hoarsely as his eyes closed, “get my knife from that archer’s back...You give it to my boy...”

“Which one?” Jalane demanded, but the only answer was a shaky squeeze of her fingers.

The door opened at that moment and Jalane looked up, cold spreading through her veins when she saw the vulnerability on the boy Dwalin’s face.

Jalane stood with head bowed. “I’ll let you...say goodbye.”


End file.
